


I Thought You Said You Didn't Sleep?

by volpeanon



Category: Prototype (Video Games)
Genre: Cross Lives Bitch, Cuddling, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Game, soft soft soft soft i am a soft bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22190290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volpeanon/pseuds/volpeanon
Summary: Sleep is really weird if you're the sentient virus who doesn't need it.
Relationships: Robert Cross/Alex Mercer
Comments: 9
Kudos: 61





	I Thought You Said You Didn't Sleep?

There’s something about it that just… makes Alex uneasy, in the beginning. The first time is accidental. “I’ll be fine,” Cross grunts as he downs probably five or six times the recommended dose of painkillers and lowers himself slowly onto the couch, trying not to wince. Alex stays, because… well. He put a lot of effort into getting Cross out of the mess that busted him up this bad, might as well make sure. It’s not long before Cross’s laboured breathing starts to soften, and the grimace on his face lessens slightly. Alex realises, _he’s asleep_. Probably not willingly. Definitely not, with Zeus in the room, despite their cautious, if successful, teamwork. And Alex feels like he’s intruding, like this is something he shouldn’t be seeing; the slow, even rise and fall of Cross’s chest, the lax sprawl of his body, his parted lips, the way his eyelashes seem highlighted by his closed lids and the way those lids twitch and tremble ever so slightly. This is something private; different somehow to Dana’s deathly stillness in the hospital bed. The vulnerability of it is why Alex doesn’t want to be there and why he can’t leave, not without worrying; so he sequesters himself where he can’t see Cross apart from his boots sticking over the end of the couch, and stares out of the window until Cross wakes up, groggy and bleary-eyed and still slightly in pain. And surprised at Alex’s presence, which is better than uncomfortable, but Alex leaves soon after anyway.

It’s a long time before Alex meets it again. They hit a lull; Cross seems to enjoy the lazy stakeouts where he can catch a break while pretending to be setting a trap for the most wanted person in the US, who just so happens to be sitting just down the rooftop from him. The conversation is comfortable, just like them in each others’ company. Alex could believe Cross genuinely enjoys him, to some degree. He _does_ believe. After a while, the talk fades away, but there’s nothing uneasy about it. Cross sits down against a wall, knocks his head back and says, with a chuckle, “Wake me up if you see Zeus.” In barely any time at all he’s asleep. His head slowly slides down until it’s resting in his collar. Alex finds himself tenser now than when they were resting in that easy silence - now it’s deliberate, now he feels the weight of what Cross has placed in his hands. This is _trust_. He’s had it before, obviously, their every meeting is a transaction of it between them. But this is different. This is more. Alex doesn’t know if he likes the responsibility. But he does like the rhythm of Cross’s sleeping breaths. They sound very satisfying. It makes Alex wish he could sleep. Cross wakes up after about half an hour, and it doesn’t seem to change anything between them.

A full year of martial law and quarantine, the urgency of a whole country demanding results, and the ever-pressing hunt for the biggest threat to humanity since the black plague (“Seriously? They’re comparing me to the plague now? Un-fucking-greatful.”) isn’t really conducive to relaxing, or to meetings any longer than an hour. There's either something important and stressful and urgent to discuss, which is a hell of a mood killer, or they just can't keep apart any longer, and when they fall together they always end up fucking like their lives depend on it and then having to rush off at a frantic radio call or just the fact that sooner or later, if he’s not careful, the wrong person will notice that Cross keeps disappearing. They go their separate ways and Alex shows up somewhere, on CCTV or maybe just a sinister glimpse down an alley, so that everyone knows he’s still around and that the Wiseman team is still needed in Manhattan.

But then Alex finds himself in the same situation as all those months before; helping a staggering Cross into an abandoned flat. This time Alex lays him carefully on the bed, and wipes his bloodied and battered face down with a damp scrap of a pillowcase. Cross pulls out the painkillers, and Alex grabs him a glass of water. “I stink.” he wrinkles his nose at the infected blood down his chest, fumbling clumsily with the zip of his jacket. Alex helps (he’s done this before, after all, and not usually so gently), just stripping him and throwing the blanket over him and washing away any blood that’s gotten under his clothes. Cross, already woozy, laughs at him. Then his hand is on Alex’s, pulling at him. Alex hits him gently with the damp scrap. “Don’t be fucking stupid, you’ll be passed out before you can get it up.”

“Not like _that_ , idiot,” Cross snorts, still pulling “C’mere.”

Suddenly, Alex is overtaken by nervousness. He tries not to show it as he slides under the blanket and shivers out of his ‘clothes’. Cross slings an arm over him, eyes barely open, and sinks into the pillow and against Alex’s chest with a contented sigh. He’s asleep in moments. Alex gently shuffles, trying a few positions, settling on his side with Cross’s head resting on his upper arm, forehead against his collar, so all the knocks to Cross’s skull are at least a little elevated. He listens to that slow, easy breathing and finds himself unconsciously matching it, hand on Cross’s side to feel him all loose, and heavy, and warm, and fitting against Alex like he's made for it.

And then he’s blinking, sunlight streaming through the window, and Cross is propped up on one elbow beside him, head in hand, looking down at him with an expression that turns Alex’s insides to liquid. “Morning.” he cocks an eyebrow and smiles, lips touching Alex's soft as feathers “I thought you said you didn’t sleep?”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't particularly like this exact outline of events for them post-game any more, but I wrote the damn thing, so it might as well see some use lmao


End file.
